My fiance has left me. Again. This isn’t something that has been ongoing. But, it’s happened about three times now within the past month and a half. Every time hurts more than the last. This time started because we got into a fight in the time between him coming back from running errands and me heading off to work. We probably fought for about two or three hours. I had found out while he was out that my period was late. I wanted to tell him, but as soon as he got back we started fighting, so I didn’t get the chance. I knew it was important that I tell him though, and about ten minutes before I had to leave for work I told him, mid-fight. He subsequently kicked me out of the house, without my keys, and told me that what I had done was “unforgivable.” Mind you, he’s not the one who’s got to worry about whether or not he’s pregnant. During my shift at work, he called and texted a few times letting me know that he was leaving, going to a friends house and that he didn’t know when he’d be back. At least he left the door unlocked for me.
This all happened yesterday (friday) morning/afternoon. As soon as my shift ended at work I called him because I was feeling emotionally unstable and I needed someone to be there for me, at the very least. He told me that I have trust issues (which isn’t untrue) and that I needed to trust that he would be home later that night. 10pm rolled around and I got a call from him saying that he needed some “time away” and he would be back on (maybe) Sunday. And that he was going to New York in the meantime. Five hours away. What the hell?
While he was telling me all this, I’m crying on the end of the line telling him I can’t do this by myself and that I needed him to come home because I felt like I was going to kill myself. He told me this was something I needed to “work out on my own,” and that he would be back when he felt like it. He asked me to trust that he would be home on Friday night. I did. I trusted him completely. And he completely betrayed me.
In the meantime, I’ve been drinking cheap wine. I’ve got about four bottles left and about four bottles of high-dosage dextromethorphan. I’m ready. I can’t do this anymore. I’ve been abandoned for the last time in my life. I haven’t eaten, I haven’t slept. I can’t live my life like this anymore. I don’t want to live a life that is full of betrayal from everyone I love. A life that is full of hate, hurt, and lies. It’s just not worth it.
I always said that I would never cry for someone who would never cry over me. Well I let myself down, I guess. My fiance is in New York right now, and just called me to say he was going to some bar with his friends and that he loves me? Whatever. How would he feel if he was left completely alone in the world, with no friends and nobody to talk to? It’s hard living an isolated existance.
I’m just glad I finally found the right way to go. I never wanted to slit my wrists, I don’t think I’d be able to take a knife to myself. Hanging myself wouldn’t do either as I don’t think I could do it right and would end up dying of suffocation as opposed to a broken neck. Wine and pills go perfectly together. I’ll go out feeling content and high as a kite. But even still, I can’t bring myself to take the pills. I called the suicide hotline last night. They were nice, I guess. But as much as it felt better to talk to someone that feeling immediately ended when I hung up and realized I was alone in my apartment and alone in the world. As much as I want to embrace death, I can’t help but fear it. I’ve always needed to much. I’ve always wanted too much. Now all I could possibly want is for something, someone to convince me that life is worth something. I just need a reason.
I’ll drink tonight to feel. So what if I’ll only be feeling pain? At least it’s something. But tomorrow. Tomorrow, without fail, at 5pm, unless some fucking miracle happens, it’s over. At 5pm the bottles all open and I begin my descent into an early grave.